The Girl
by HorcruxesandHallows
Summary: Greyback meets a girl in a bar. One-shot. M for violence.


The whiskey burned his throat as it always did, but he drank it down in one gulp nonetheless. Fenrir thought that he needed it tonight, after a particularly difficult day of snatching, one which had resulted in him breaking his arm after tripping downhill. It had not been any real pain to him (he always suffered much worse every month at the full moon, when every single bone in his body was broken and realigned) but that was tonight's excuse for a drink. Some nights if did not need one, others he did.

It was his fourth glass, though it could easily have been his third or fifth as far as Fenrir was concerned. He did not keep track of his alcohol consumption, and the rate at which he drank made it difficult for him to do so anyway.

He heard the girl slide into the seat beside him, and could smell the overpowering scent of her perfume as she leaned in closer.

"You look lonely," she said softly, her lips hovering by his ear.

His hand shook as he drained his latest glass of Firewhiskey, but the girl, who was not yet forthcoming with her name, took this to be a side effect of his alcohol ingestion. Fenrir, however, was only slightly affected by the drink. It was the presence of the girl which unnerved him, and the vague familiarity of the situation. It reminded him of something, something that had happened a long time ago and had since been forgotten.

"I plan on staying that way," he finally replied, not even looking at the girl. He imagined that she wore red lipstick.

The girl was insistent, and stupidly so. "Why bother?" she whispered. He looked down at her hand, which was squeezing his thigh, and her nails were painted red.

"How much?" he asked, with no intention of taking this girl up on her offer. "Ten Galleons?"

"Fifteen," she said.

Fenrir froze. His hand was suspended midway between the bar and his mouth.

"Go away," he said, quietly but firmly.

The girl misunderstood his anger. She thought it to be a result of his repulsion to her occupation, and in turn disliked this man, who she thought no better than herself. His clothes were ragged, his face unshaven. He was half-drunk on whiskey and she had seen him in here before in a similar state, always alone. What right had he to judge her?

Fenrir's mind was elsewhere. The girl could not know the significance of their words. How could she possibly suspect that just one word had opened an old wound for the man, and reawakened memories that he had long since forgotten? Fenrir himself could not have known it, for he thought those memories to be insignificant before now. He had not expected the anger that had accompanied their return.

The girl brushed past him as she left, a scowl deeply set into her brow. She had granted his wish and left him alone; without her company and without his money.

Fenrir was grateful that the episode was over, short and trivial as it had been, and he swallowed down yet another half-tumbler of whiskey, so as to drown away the burning anger.

It was as another whiskey was being poured and he reached into his pocket to find coins with which to pay for the drink, that he realised what the girl had done. He said nothing, not even to the barman who was waiting for payment. He stood up, and even a simple man could see the dark determination in his eyes.

The night was cold, it being early February, and the girl had not gone far. She stood in the doorway of the next tavern to the one in which she had met Fenrir, blowing on her frozen hands as she looked up and down the snow-covered road. Her eyes fell on Fenrir. She recognised him instantly - the gruff beard, the worn clothes, those nails and teeth that were so long and sharp that they verged on animalistic.

She set off walking, though she was foolish to do so, for she walked away from Fenrir, whose purposeful, heavy footsteps she could hear crunching through the snow behind her, and deeper into the black night. It suited Fenrir well though, as the further they walked into the darkness, the further they walked away from any help she could call for.

Her feet quickened until she had broken into a run. The snow hindered her progress as she fumbled through her cloak for her wand. She could hear him running behind her, coming closer and closer. She could hear his breathing, though it was nowhere near as ragged as her own. She felt the tug, his hand clasping a handful of her cloak and dragging her back to him.

Her arms were crushed by her sides, Fenrir's breath hot down her neck. She was thrown against the wall and froze where she stood, too afraid to even reach for her wand.

The blood pumped through his veins, adrenaline causing his hands to shake. His entire body, in fact, felt unstable and he leant against her for support. It was only now, so close to her still form, that he saw that her lips were as red as blood.

"You've something that belongs to me," he whispered, forcing himself to stand straight.

The girl did not hesitate to hand his wallet back to him. He opened it and made a show of counting each and every individual coin before nodding his approval.

When he backed up a step, the girl saw this as an invitation to flea. He caught her quickly and pushed her back against the wall, where she whimpered quietly. He silenced her with his finger, which he pressed against her lips, plump and parted, smudging her lipstick slightly.

"Hang on, hang on," he said. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement. After all, we don't want you going home empty handed now, do we?"

She struggled against him and even made a snap at his hand with her teeth, but he simply laughed it away and still she said nothing, though poisonous, venomous words lingered on the tip of her tongue and she so wanted to spit them at him.

He held a coin before her eyes, one patronising galleon waving back and forth in his hand.

"You were right, you know," he continued, as though they were having a perfectly normal, two-sided conversation. "I were lonely. Very lonely."

She held her breath, ready for what was to come. His grip was so tight that she could no longer feel the arm beneath his hand.

"You gunna help me with that, sweetheart?"

She groaned as his hand touched her hair and cringed away from his touch. Her struggling had turned to pitiful praying and her eyes burned on the verge of tears.

"One kiss," he said. "Just one. One kiss and I'll give you one galleon. Don't that sound far?"

She gave him a final push, though it was weak and pathetic, and a cry of "No!" ripped from her throat.

He was disappointed in the lack of fight in her, but it hardly mattered to him. She seemed to crumble towards the floor, though his arms held her upright, suspended between his body and the wall as he claimed his prize and more. Her tears turned to dust, her sobs to silence. Occasional, feeble cries of pain could be heard through the night if only there were anyone present to hear them.

His arms bore deep scratches, but her body, she was sure, had been all but destroyed. When he was done, she no longer felt the pain. The snow that she lay in numbed her somewhat; her mind forcibly ignoring the rest. She lay staring into the darkness, her eyes blank and glassy. She had no reaction for Fenrir, who straightened his clothes silently.

He dropped the coin by her head and left her there on the floor.

_**For Pearl.**_


End file.
